and no need had I had of this counsel. But now alas! I am forced to fly to thee for succour, whom I accuse of all my hurt, and make thee judge of my cause, who art the only author of my mischief.” Zelmane the more astonished, the more she understood her; “Madam,” said she, “whereof do you accuse me that I will not clear myself? or wherein may I stead you that you may not command me?” “Alas!” answered Gynecia, “what shall I say more? take pity on me, O Zelmane, but not as Zelmane, and disguise not with me in words, as I know thou dost in apparel.” Zelmane was much troubled with that word, finding herself brought to this strait. But as she was thinking what to answer her, they might see old Basilius pass hard by them without ever seeing them, complaining likewise of love very freshly, and ending his complaint with this song, love having renewed both his invention and voice. Let not old age disgrace my high desire; O heavenly soul in human shape contain’d: Old wood inflam’d doth yield the bravest fire, When younger doth in smoke his virtue spend, Nay let white hairs which on my face do grow Seem to your eyes of a disgraceful hue, Since whiteness doth present the sweetest show, Which makes all eyes do homage unto you. Old age is wise, and full of constant truth; Old age well stayed, from ranging humour lives: Old age hath known whatever was in youth: Old age o’ercome, the greater honour gives. And to old age since you yourself aspire, Let not old age disgrace my high desire.